


The Adventure Of The Blue Carbuncle (1889)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [115]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Jewelry, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Sussex, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: John's first time in what was to become his favourite part of the country, as theft and murder surround a precious gemstone.





	The Adventure Of The Blue Carbuncle (1889)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).



It was a bitterly cold Friday early in December, and London was more wet than Christmas-y. The young lady seated in the fireside chair in our rooms at 221B on that day was twenty-five years of age at most, plain of feature and modestly dressed. She had introduced herself as Miss Madeleine Brooks, and then said nothing. We spent some minutes in silent anticipation before Sherlock finally spoke. 

“I am sure that the good doctor here overestimates my abilities in those stories that he persists in writing”, he observed, ignoring my slight pout, “but it is customary for my potential clients to actually tell me what they require. And apart from the fact that you are quite obviously a maid with a caring master, suffer from a minor eye problem, and have travelled up from the south of England today with a companion, I am at a loss to explain your presence here.”

She baulked at his perspicacity (at least it stopped her mid-simper, and someone could stop looking smug right now!). I too was surprised.

“How can you know all that, sir?” she asked querulously.

“It is my business to know things that others do not”, Sherlock said airily. “You are physically robust, and the condition of your hands denotes some intense form of manual labour. Yet your general appearance is pristine, hence a life in service. There is the mark of a pair of spectacles around the bridge of your nose, and since such things are expensive, you must be at least adequately paid to be able to afford such an item; few in domestic service usually can. The London, Brighton & South Coast Railway Company issues tickets of a quite uniquely vile shade of green, such as the one that you were holding when you entered. Finally, said ticket did not have the unique mark for a lady's compartment, so evidently you had company.”

She nodded at that.

“The good doctor here does not overestimate you at all, sir”, she said. “I am here of my own volition, and it is only fair before I begin that I must tell you I have no way of paying for any services that you can provide.”

“But if you have read the doctor's writings, you will know both that I am independently wealthy, and that I often take cases merely because they interest me”, Sherlock said smoothly. “And you do not appear to be the sort of person who would come all this way if you did not believe that you had something that would excite my curiosity. Come, tell me what brings you here today.”

She took a deep breath and began.

“I work for Lord Gideon DeVille”, she said, “and I am a housemaid at his country seat, Maidenbower, near the village of Partridge Green in the county of Sussex. Lord Gideon is a lovely old gentleman; he never forgets our birthdays, and even orders magazines just for the staff. That is how I came to read the tales of your adventures, and when certain... events at the house caused me unease, I decided to take this opportunity to see if you might be inclined to look into them. James, one of the footmen, and I were dispatched to open up the family's main London house for His Lordship's move there for the Christmas holiday. He – James – said that I was a fool for coming here, but he agreed to wait in the restaurant opposite whilst I talked to you.”

“I think that before you start your tale fully, you might describe to me the people at Maidenbower”, Sherlock said. “In that way I may better understand the events you later relate.”

She nodded.

“His Lordship is in his late fifties, in only moderate health, and separated from his second wife”, she began. “His first marriage, I only recently learnt, was one arranged by his father, which his intended lady was equally against. On her way back from the church she arranged that the man she truly loved would 'kidnap' her, and when they were found a few months later, she was pregnant by him. That marriage was, of course, swiftly annulled, and it was ten years before His Lordship tried again, this time with a local lady. She gave him a daughter Mary and then twins, Louisa and Louis. Sadly however, when Louis grew up he became rather erratic, and eventually His Lordship cut him off without a penny. That was what led to a final breach with his second wife, who now lives in the lesser of his two London properties, just off Euston Square. My fellow servants think that Lord Gideon hopes for some sort of reconciliation as she has not yet filed for a divorce, although I myself consider such a thing unlikely.”

“It might not be in her financial interests so to do”, Sherlock observed, “which is something that I am sure many at Maidenbower have spotted. Pray continue with your fascinating tale.”

“At the house in recent times there have been five people. Miss Mary is now twenty-eight years of age, and Miss Louisa has just turned twenty-six.” She hesitated before continuing. “I am sorry to say that history appears to be repeating itself, in that Miss Mary has taken up with a most undesirable young man in the form of one Mr. Preston Sharpe, who owns several factories in the North of England but who is, though I hesitate to say it, quite uncouth. Miss Louisa hates him, and there have been several words spoken between the sisters over the matter.”

Those must have been very unpleasant confrontations, I thought, as anyone with servants usually knew to keep their voices down at such times.

“What happened to the wayward son, Louis?” I asked, scribbling hard to keep up.

“He went out to South Africa and struck gold, but was killed in a bar fight”, she said, shuddering at the memory. “Such a wild continent!”

“Savagery takes many forms”, Sherlock said with a smile. “Who is the fifth person of interest at this great house in the land of the South Saxons?”

“Mr. Philoctetes Smith”, she said. “He is the estate manager, and is often to be found in the house. I think he may have some feelings towards Miss Louisa, but she shows no sign of returning them. Besides, he is almost forty years of age!”

I smiled at her vehemence on the subject of age, particularly as my own thirty-eighth birthday lay barely a month ahead. Which was most definitely not something that I wished to dwell on. Annoyingly, I noticed the slight quirk at the edge of Sherlock's lips, which told me he knew quite well in which direction my thoughts had strayed, the bastard!

“Fascinating as these people are, something else must have happened to cause you to seek my assistance”, Sherlock pressed. “Please tell us what that was.”

She took a deep breath.

“Mr. Smith had been pressing Lord Gideon to move his money away from land, and into other things”, she said. “That, of course, caused another argument between the ladies, with Miss Mary supporting the idea and Miss Louisa bitterly against. Then their father suddenly had an opportunity to acquire the famous Blue Carbuncle. I think that the purchase even made the newspapers, from what I heard amongst the servants' talk.”

“I read about it”, I said. “A beautiful giant garnet, mined in East Africa and extremely valuable because of its rare colour. Blue garnets are almost unknown; I know that Her Majesty was recently presented with a green one, which is almost as rare.”

“I understand that His Lordship purchased the item solely as an investment”, our visitor continued, “though of course I know nothing about such things. Both his daughters wanted to have the stone set so that they could wear it, but he refused, preferring to keep it in his safe.”

Sherlock eyed her curiously.

“You are fearful lest this gem be stolen?” he asked. She nodded.

“Lord Gideon has been very good to me – to all of us - and I do not like the fact that he has so much of his wealth tied up in that small piece of crystal”, she said. “If anything were to happen to it, he could lose everything.”

“You have someone in mind?” I asked.

She sighed unhappily, then paused before speaking.

“Gentlemen”, she said, “I am not at all superstitious. But I did chance to be in the room one time when the ladies were examining it, and I caught one brief glimpse. I will tell you, something about it frightened me! All that money in something so small, yet it could disappear amongst the change in a gentleman’s pocket!”

To my surprise, Sherlock shook his head.

“No no, Miss Brooks, that will not do at all!" he said firmly, shaking an admonitory finger at her. “You do not call in a consulting detective just because of a strange feeling that even you yourself do not fully believe in. You have seen or heard something in that house, and it has made you anxious enough to seek out our help. Now, I will say that I am indeed inclined to look into this matter for you, and I am prepared to do so solely to satisfy my own curiosity, but you must be totally frank with me. What else do you know?”

She looked away guiltily (how did he do that?).

“You will think it silly”, she muttered.

“Bearing in mind some of the things that I have heard said in this room, I sincerely doubt that”, I assured her with a smile.

“It is just….. something that I overheard.”

“Go on”, Sherlock urged. She took a deep breath.

“It is mere gossip”, she said, blushing fiercely, “and I was not even the one to hear it. You see, we have this maid, Lily. She is a good worker, and has absolutely no imagination whatsoever. She had been very anxious the last few days, and yesterday she confided in me as to the cause. She had heard Mr. Sharpe talking to someone in his bedroom…..”

She stopped, clearly embarrassed. 

“Did this Lily know to whom he was talking?” Sherlock asked.

“No, except that it was a woman. And I know that it cannot have been Miss Mary, because at that time, she always goes down to the village shop to purchase a weekly magazine that she likes, at the same time every week. Lily told me that she had finished the room that she was in, the one above the bedroom, just as the clock was striking ten, and when I checked later, I found that Miss Mary had stayed in the village for much of that morning.”

“Did this Lily hear anything in particular?” Sherlock pressed. That brought on a further fit of blushing. 

“He – Mr. Sharpe - seemed to be expressing some sort of…. affections towards the lady”, she said at last. “Unfortunately it is a large house, and several of the maids are young enough to attract the attentions of someone like that! I myself think that it was most probably Eunice, who does that room.”

She almost spat out the last words in disgust. I suppressed a smile. Sherlock pressed his fingers together.

“I do not suppose if you happen to know whether your master has had the stone valued at all?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do know that he has not as yet”, she said. “James told me that he spoke at dinner of getting that done whilst he was in the capital, and Mr. Smith recommended the services of a jeweller that he knew to him.”

Sherlock nodded, then turned to me.

“Doctor”, he said casually, “how would you feel about a few breaths of fresh, Sussex air?”

+~+~+

I was surprised that Sherlock insisted that we decamp immediately to Victoria Station for the train to Horsham and thence to Partridge Green for Maidenbower. 

“From what that young lady has told me, I fully expect something to happen before Lord Gideon reaches London”, Sherlock said. “We are dealing with someone both bold and resourceful here, and I would not put it past them to kill for what they are after.”

I felt comfortingly towards the pistol in my doctor’s bag. He looked knowingly at me.

“Indeed, my faithful friend”, he said heavily. “Though I hope we will not need to resort to such measures, if what I have planned works out. I intend to force the villain’s hand and make them strike at a time of my choosing, not theirs.”

I nodded.

“So”, he went on, “you are my walking social encyclopædia, doctor. What can you tell me about the DeVilles of Maidenbower in the fair county of Sussex?”

I scowled at him for that.

“Lord Gideon inherited his title from his elder brother Abanezer, who resigned it in order to go to Central Africa”, I said stiffly. “Not widely regretted, from what little I know; the “Times” called him a DeVille by name and devil by nature. The new lord of Maidenbower is a much gentler person, by all accounts. The only thing that I can add to her description is that the second wife, Alana, is fully supported by her own family, so could sue for a divorce if she so wanted. The fact that she has not done so has led to speculation that she, too, may be looking for a reconciliation.”

“Her husband's character is such that he has earnt the sympathy of one of his maids, which may well be what saves his inheritance”, Sherlock said dryly. He leant across and took my hand in his. “I am sorry for teasing you, John.”

I pouted, but I knew that once he gave me that kicked puppy look of his, I was lost. I sighed in resignation as our train swept through the Surrey countryside and towards the Downs.

+~+~+

I have to say that the Downs took me by surprise in their late autumn glory. I had had to study history at school, and learn all about how the invading South Saxons drove the Celts into the impenetrable depths of the huge forested hills beyond the coastal strip, and I suppose that in some way I still envisaged it as an untamed wilderness. Yet the area had a gentle and almost entrancing beauty about it, England at its very finest. I decided that when I retired from my practice, I would hope to have enough money to afford to live here. And not alone.....

Partridge Green Station was typical of many such up and down the country. It often made me wonder that, despite the newness of the Railway Age, there was something distinctly English about a train shuffling slowly through the hedgerows past stations and halts, binding the countryside together. A sleepy porter carried our bags out to a waiting cab, and Sherlock tipped him rather more generously than his 'service' had merited, in my opinion.

Maidenbower turned out to be an almost palatial building, with some obviously Elizabethan parts to the front. Our driver told us that it had been built on the site of an old priory, the monks having been amongst the many evicted by that old tyrant Henry the Eighth, and that the DeVilles had held the estate ever since the Restoration over two centuries before. We drove up to a massive oak front door, and were soon admitted to the building. Lord Gideon DeVille was clearly surprised at our presence, but Sherlock soon explained all.

“The doctor and I were sorting out a small matter for an important personage in the area”, he said, “and since my friend has been full of stories concerning the Blue Carbuncle, I decided to humour him and come here. If, of course, you do not mind showing it to two passing strangers.”

“Of course not”, the old man said. “Why, sir, you are justifiably famous for your deeds. Come, let us go to my study and we can observe the jewel in peace.”

We followed him out of the reception room across the hall to a solid-looking door, which he unlocked with one of his keys.

“I am pleased to see you take security seriously”, Sherlock observed. Our host chuckled.

“Much of my estate is tied up in those few ounces of precious stone, sir”, he said. “My safe is built into a reinforced wall, and it has both a key and a combination lock, both of which only I hold.”

“Surely that is a little dangerous?” Sherlock ventured. “God forbid sir, but if anything were to happen to your good self….”

“I employ two lawyers, one of whom keeps a copy of the key and the other the combination”, he explained. “In the event of my not writing to them at the start of each quarter, they are instructed to come to the estate and bring what will be needed to access the stone. My daughters actually wanted to wear the thing out in public, would you believe, but of course I refused.”

“Very wise”, I said.

Our host unlocked the safe and paused before taking out a silken pouch, from which he extracted a sparkling blue gemstone. He handed it over to Sherlock, who looked at it hard.

“Clever”, he muttered.

I looked at him, surprised. Our host chuckled.

“I can see that you have a fine eye for quality, Mr. Holmes”, he said, retrieving the gemstone. “It is, of course, a fake.”

He replaced the stone in a pouch before putting both back in the safe. Then he reached far into the back and pulled some sort of lever. There was a faint grinding noise, and he extracted a small wooden box which he handed to Sherlock. My friend opened it and took the second gemstone over to the window, where he looked at it appraisingly.

“This, on the other hand, is the real thing”, he said firmly. “Pray, who came up with the ingenious device of a false stone and a hidden compartment?”

“My estate manager, Mr. Smith”, the nobleman said. “He was very keen on getting my money out of land, which is only right as the return has fallen sharply of late, but was worried that my holding such a stone in the house would attract thieves. I have not informed the rest of my family.

“May I be allowed to examine the mechanism at the back of the safe?” Sherlock asked politely.

“Of course, sir.”

With typical Sherlock absent-mindedness he reached into the back of the safe whilst still holding the gemstone and felt around, then pulled his hand out, dislodging the pouch with the fake stone in it as he did so. He apologized to the nobleman and replaced both stones in their correct places, before allowing our host to lock the safe. Once he had finished, Sherlock spoke earnestly. 

“I do not wish to alarm you, Lord Gideon, but I am of the firm belief that an attempt will be made to take this stone from you, and quite soon.”

The man paled. 

“That would ruin me!” he said, shuddering.

“Having seen your most excellent preparations, I have a plan which may forestall such an attempt”, Sherlock said. “I know that I ask much of you on so short an acquaintance, but would you be guided by me in this matter?”

“Sir, I know from the good doctor’s books that you are always honourable in all you do”, he said firmly. “I trust you implicitly.”

“Thank you”, Sherlock said, shooting me a glance. “Then this is what you must do….”

+~+~+

Sherlock and I were invited to spend the night at Maidenbower, and we endured a difficult dinner with the other inhabitants of the house, most of whom I frankly disliked on sight. Miss Mary DeVille was overly made-up, loud, and spent much of the meal arguing with her equally unpleasant sister Miss Louisa. Mr. Preston Sharpe reminded me vaguely of a vulture for some reason, though I also had the distinct feeling that I knew him from somewhere (no, not the social pages, shut up!). Only Mr. Philoctetes Smith, the estate manager, came across as calm and polite, and we discussed politics and my writings quite happily.

It was at the end of dinner that our host remarked that Sherlock had advised him to get the carbuncle valued before his trip to London on Sunday, and insured for that trip just in case, and that a jeweller he had once helped out could come up from Littlehampton on Saturday morning, to be followed by an insurance agent in the afternoon. Lord DeVille could still have a second valuation done in London, if he so required. Mr. Smith agreed that a second valuation would be a good idea.

+~+~+

After an uncomfortable night in a small bed -Sherlock still insisted on us not sleeping together in private houses, worse luck - I joined my friend for breakfast. A maid told us that we were likely to be alone for this meal, as the house's regular occupants were not morning people. Sherlock mourned the lack of coffee, but fortunately at least there was bacon, and plenty of it. 

Our meal had just concluded when a servant asked us if we would attend Lord Gideon in the study as a matter of urgency. We hurried after him, and entered the room to find the nobleman and his daughters all looking shocked.

“What has happened?” I asked.

“Both Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Smith have disappeared”, Lord Gideon said flatly. “And one or both of them somehow managed to break into the safe and steal the Blue Carbuncle. We are ruined!”

Sherlock took the seat opposite the nobleman, and sighed.

“I have a tale to tell you”, he said. “I am afraid that you will find some parts of it quite depressing, my lord.”

“I do not think that I could feel any lower than I do now”, the nobleman said with a heavy sigh.

“It is the story of a wayward son who abandons his father and moves to start a new life abroad”, Sherlock said. “He buys a ticket to Liverpool and tells his family he is heading to South Africa, but instead he uses the money that he has managed to secure to set himself up as a businessman in the North of England. He does well for himself, but all the time, he quietly monitors from afar the family he has disgraced, and who have rightly disowned him.”

Lord Gideon looked at him warily, but said nothing.

“The son is determined to reclaim his inheritance, but he knows that there is no chance through the law, as his father has settled the estate on his two daughters and very firmly barred his son from any chance of ever inheriting. But then he has a lucky break. The estate acquires a new manager who he, ahem, 'persuades' to work with him. The manager proposes to his master the idea of investing the estate's value into precious stones, in other words, something that a gentleman could easily carry away in his own pocket.”

I stared at Sherlock, feeling in some way that I had just missed something there.

“The wayward son is by this time unrecognizable”, Sherlock continued, “five years older, heavier and bearded, and he 'persuades' his new friend to introduce him to his own elder sister, whom he sets about courting. They become engaged, although of course there can be no union. The ruse is merely to allow the wayward son access to the house, and he spends as much time as possible away 'on business', in case he is recognized despite his precautions. He also plays the rake, earning the distrust of his father who, inadvertently, comes to rely even more on his estate manager for advice. Which was entirely what both men had planned.”

“The manager has already suggested the blind of a second gemstone, with the real one concealed behind a false panel at the back of the safe”, Sherlock continued. “Of course the son is merely waiting for a chance to switch the stones around, most probably when the nobleman travels up to London shortly. His friend has had a key made and has made sure to learn the combination, as his master does not suspect him of any ill intent. The only problem is that the manager will be expected to remain in charge of the estate when the nobleman goes to the city, but he can fake an illness soon enough and follow the son, so they can split their ill-gotten gains.”

“But then there arises a problem. An untimely visitor says that he can bring in an expert to value the stone, and to their horror this has been arranged for the very next day. There is the distinct possibility that the stone may not be returned to the safe, and that the chance to take it will have gone for now. A quick consultation, and a theft is effected that same night, the two men rushing from the house.”

Lord Gideon groaned. Sherlock smiled knowingly.

“This tale has two more parts to it, however”, he said comfortingly. “A concerned and dutiful housemaid, whose admiration the master of the house has earnt and which is about to prove far above the value many might place on such a small thing, has called in on a certain consulting detective, who quickly recognizes what is afoot. He and his friend travel down to the house where the crime is planned and, whilst examining the two stones, very clumsily drops the fake stone. It is to his advantage that working with criminals has taught him certain sleight of hand skills that, just occasionally, come in quite useful.”

Sherlock reached into his pocket and drew out his handkerchief, which he placed on the table and unfolded. Inside, sure enough, was a sparkling blue gemstone, which he handed to Lord Gideon. The nobleman held it up to where it shone in the flickering firelight, and we all stared at it in shocked silence until he slowly took it down again.

“The real one!” he said incredulously.

“The real one”, Sherlock said with a nod. “Your son is probably waiting for a ship to some distant shore right now, unaware that the box in his pocket contains the paste replica.”

“And Mr. Smith”, the baron asked.

“Ah.”

We all looked at Sherlock. That did not sound good.

“I did say that there was a second extra part to my story”, he said carefully. “It is a less happy one, and one I feared might develop from my actions yesterday. It struck me from analyzing your son's character that he was not the sort to share his ill-gotten gains with a stranger, no matter how instrumental they had been to his regaining his 'lost' wealth. I am sorry to have to say this, my lord, but I have a distinct feeling that if you drain the ornamental lake over which the road into and out of this house passes, I think it quite likely that you will find your late estate manager therein.”

“But why did Mr. Smith agree to work with my son?” Lord Gideon demanded. “For money?”

Sherlock looked across at me. 

“Did you notice how Mr. Smith's voice had never broken?” he asked quietly. 

For some little time I had no idea what he was talking about – until it suddenly hit me. Mr. Preston Sharpe, in reality Mr. Louis DeVille, had not been wooing one of the serving girls when the maid Lily had chanced to overhear him. He had been..... 

Oh.

“The doctor and I must be back to London”, Sherlock said briskly, “but we will call in at the village police station and inform them of developments. And we shall ensure that your local constable telegraphs his superiors as soon as possible. Thanks to the advent of modern communications, I feel sure that we shall soon be able to track down a thief and a murderer.”

I thanked our host, who was clearly still trying to work out Sherlock's meaning, and hurried upstairs to pack. Hurried as in ran.

+~+~+

For once, Sherlock was wrong about capturing Mr. Louis DeVille, whose escape was eventually tracked down to the cutter “Fernandina”, bound for Bombay. Unfortunately this discovery occurred a day too late to catch him when the ship called at Cape Town, although he was definitely on board when it left as the ship did not disembark any passengers there. I say that because three days later, the “Fernandina” was lost in a storm whilst crossing the treacherous Indian Ocean. 

Sherlock was of course proven right about the lake, the body of the slain Mr. Philoctetes Smith being dragged from it the day after we left, a single bullet wound to the head being the cause of death. The whole experience quite deterred Lord Gideon from his venture into the gemstone market, but he subsequently sold the Blue Carbuncle for twenty-five percent above what he paid for it, and lived very well off that money for the rest of his days.

+~+~+

In our next case, time and tide wait for no man, and we return to Lincolnshire to investigate the death of someone familiar. And a familiarly annoying lounge-lizard gets a well-deserved come-uppance!


End file.
